


In Love, Sacrifice

by letsbreereal



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 22:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10649565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsbreereal/pseuds/letsbreereal
Summary: Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan deals with the aftermath of what happened at Adamant Fortress.





	In Love, Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this one-shot years ago, back when I was on my first DA:I playthrough, and this was essentially how I justified the hardest decision I've ever had to make in any video game ever. I don't know, maybe everyone's already gotten over this moment from the game by now, but it still haunts me, so I figured it might be worth re-posting. 
> 
> Let me know what you think?

As Inquisitor, Evelyn Trevelyan had met a lot of people – a lot of _good_ people – over the past few months, but the Champion of Kirkwall and the Warden Alistair were undoubtedly two of her absolute favorites.

Of course, she’d heard of both of them before she’d ever had the pleasure of meeting them. Locked in a tower though she may have been for most of her life, she wasn’t _that_ cut off from reality.

She’d heard many tales of the woman who had been at the center of it all when the Mage Rebellion had truly begun, but most of those stories had been debunked as gross exaggerations and outright lies… and that included at least half of the stories she’d heard from Varric himself. The Champion of Kirkwall had not, as it turned out, been a supremely powerful apostate playing puppet to the Templars in exchange for own freedom. Instead, she’d been a simple woman legitimately trying to do what she felt was best for her friends, her family, and her city. Varric _hadn’t_ , however, lied about the woman’s ability to drink everyone under the table, nor had he exaggerated her witty sarcasm.

“Maker, what do they feed those things?”

It was a line Evelyn herself had heard Hawke admit to saying – or _thinking_ , as it was _._

No, Hawke was every bit the spitfire that all of Varric’s tales had suggested she would be, though the former Champion did _also_ seem to have a resigned, bitterly sober side that came out whenever the situation actually called for seriousness. It was a side that had never made an appearance in _The Tale of the Champion_. It was a side that only existed in a person who had had to live through too many terrible things.

It was something Evelyn had to admit she recognized in Cullen, something she saw even more in Alistair, the Warden friend Hawke had introduced her to.

Warden Alistair was also not quite the man that the people spoke of, though those stories were fewer and further between. Evelyn hadn’t truly had the a solid mental image of the man who had loved _The Warden_ , but from everything she’d heard, Warden Alistair hadn’t been what she’d expected. From the little things Leliana had said in passing, Alistair was supposedly a sweet, goofy man… but that wasn’t the man Evelyn saw. In his place, she saw a man hardened by cruel reality, though not so hardened as to no longer believe in the ideal that all Wardens aspired to live up to.

She recognized that in the Inquisition’s Commander, as well.

Still, when it came to drinking and sharing old stories at the Herald’s Rest, Evelyn managed to catch a few glimpses of that youthful young man Leliana had mentioned. And Leliana _herself_ , the few times she had chosen to join them all for a toast, had for just a moment appeared the youthful, excitable young woman that Josephine had described her as having been, years and years before.

The two of them – Leliana and Warden Alistair – drinking together… It was more than enough to entertain _anyone_ , truly, but throw in Varric and Hawke? The stories told on those nights always left Evelyn’s sides aching long into the night.

Leliana had seemed fond of bringing up past mishaps and of complaining about various meals Alistair had cooked in that year they’d spent together, while Alistair had seemed more partial to talking about the people he’d encountered along the way, rather than the people he’d traveled with.

That was, of course, excepting the one night it had been just the three of them up in one of the not-yet-remodeled towers, still drinking and watching the stars even hours after Hawke had had to drag Varric home. _That_ night, Alistair had spoken a great deal about the people he’d traveled with.

“So you’re the Spymaster now, Leliana? You know all the things about all the things?” he’d drunkenly not-quite-whispered. “Well, do you know what happened to her dog?”

“Alistair, honestly, a mabari is not just a—“ Leliana had paused mid-chastisement, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips as she gave her head a soft shake. “Yes, I do. You think I haven’t had people checking in on you from time to time? I know you kept her mabari with you for years.”

"Not _willingly_ ,” he’d then claimed in response. “It just wouldn’t leave. You know she tried to sell it to a guard in Denerim once? But it wouldn’t _go_.”

“That didn’t happen.”

“Oh, yes, it—“

“No.”

Alistair had paused for a second. “Okay, so _I_ might have been the one to try that…”

“And she might have ‘accidentally’ allowed him to eat all of our cheese for the next month? Yes, I know. She told me.”

“She did what?” For a moment, he’d looked almost affronted, before this time he’d been the one to sigh and shake his head. “Oh, of course she did. She told you everything, didn’t she?”

“No, Alistair. Not _everything_ ,” Leliana had assured, only to offer up a wicked little laugh that certainly hadn’t seemed to fit with her answer. “She never did tell me what happened at the Pearl to have the both of you running back to camp looking so flustered.”

“Oh, by the Maker…! That’s because _nothing_ happened! We told you this for weeks but you wouldn’t believe us! You and Oghren both, you were always so nosey and you never believed the truth when you heard it!”

Leliana had offered the Inquisitor a wink. “Oghren was our dwarven friend,” she explained, grabbing Evelyn’s arm and leaning forward a bit as if sharing a secret, “and the Pearl is Denerim’s brothel.”

Alistair had promptly sputtered. “Oh, now you’re making it sound like something did happen! To the blighted _Herald of Andraste_ , no less! Nothing. Happened. Alright? Maker!” He’d buried his face in his hands, then, in the process forgetting about the bottle he’d been holding, and hissing out another curse when it only clinked against his brow. It hadn’t taken him long to pull away just far enough to send a glare down at it. “Tell me, Lady Nightingale… How is it that Oghren was always drunk? Did we even carry enough alcohol to keep him constantly intoxicated? And how did we afford it all, especially in the beginning?”

Leliana’s lips had played into a soft but sad smile. _“_ Now _that,_ Alistair… That might be the one thing I do not know.”

Their stories had continued on from there, laughter abounding as they each felt the need to try and one-up the other with their wildest tales. There had been a lightness in their eyes as they spoke, as if the events of the past had occurred just the previous day, as if the years hadn’t separated them, hadn’t isolated them from happier times. It was beautiful, and heartbreaking at the same time.

Evelyn had excused herself some time later, when the stories had started to require more and more explanations, and she began to feel as if she was intruding on a private moment between two old friends. Both had, of course, objected when she’d risen from her seat, but she’d managed to slip away, claiming something about needing to be up early the next morning. In reality, she’d slept in later than she had in a _long_ while – something she was absolutely certain their Spymaster had noticed, but the woman hadn’t mentioned a thing when they’d next crossed paths.

Leliana hadn’t joined them for drinks again after that night. Alistair had continued to sit in and listen to the tales that Varric and Hawke told, but Evelyn was certain she wasn’t the only one to notice that the Warden shared fewer and fewer tales of his own on those nights. No one ever said a thing. And, hell, with Hawke sassing Varric at every chance and the two bickering over the truth of whatever story they were telling… well, there hadn’t been enough downtime to question Alistair’s silence, anyways.

It had been refreshing, sitting around a table and sharing laughter and drinks with people who were legends in their own rights. The Inquisitor might have loved her people, might have loved every damn soldier who joined their ranks and fought for their cause, but she did get _so_ tired of always _being_ the Inquisitor, the _Herald of Andraste_. At the end of the day, it was nice to spend some time with people who didn’t look at her as if she was inhuman, and ther was nothing like sitting down beside the Champion of Kirkwall and the Grey Warden who helped defeat the Blight to knock your ego down a peg or two. After all, who cared if she had a glowing green Anchor to the Fade on her hand, when the Champion of Kirkwall was telling the story of the time she’d single-handedly brought down the Arishok in a bona fide duel?

Though, when the lot of them had fallen from the battlements at Adamant Fortress, that pesky little Anchor to the Fade had ended up saving all of their lives at the perfect moment, stopping the fall that would surely have resulted in each of their deaths, and allowing them to walk the Fade instead. And while the Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Blackwall had looked around, marveling at the very possibility of being in the Fade, Alistair, Hawke, and the Inquisitor had all collectively groaned. It was only natural for the two mages to hate the Fade, being more than aware of the demons that lurked around every corner, but Alistair’s disdain had been somewhat surprising to the others.

“One of you smack me if I start believing anything we see,” he had muttered as he’d stepped between the two mages. “Especially if…” Both Hawke and the Inquisitor had nodded before he’d been forced to finish that sentence, however, and so Alistair had simply huffed out a self-sacrificing sigh and started to move forward. “I’ve seen my father in the Fade. I’ve seen a demon pretending to be my sister in the Fade. What’s it going to be this time?”

Truthfully, Evelyn still wasn’t sure whether it had been a good thing or a bad thing that Divine Justinia had ended up being the one they’d all seen in the Fade. Which, of course, wasn’t to say that it had _actually_ been Justinia… Hawke, Alistair, and the Inquisitor had _all_ voiced that objection the second she had appeared, and the confusion that had followed had not completely connived any of them otherwise.

But that wasn’t the question that most haunted the Inquisitor’s memories of that day. _That_ question hardly mattered to her at all. No, she was _much_ more concerned with the question of _what_ , exactly, had happened after she’d stepped through the fade rift and sealed it shut. She’d not deluded herself into thinking that her friend was still alive… but she’d questioned countless times just how much suffering had gone on after the rift had sealed.

Hawke had been the first to volunteer herself, when the three of them had stood before the monster of a spider that blocked their exit out of the Fade. “Go!” she had commanded. “I’ll cover you!”

But Alistair had been just as quick to counter. “No. You were right. The Wardens caused this mess. A Warden must—“

“A Warden must help them rebuild! That’s _your_ job!” Hawke had interrupted, rage in her eyes as she’d stared down their common enemy. “Corypheus is mine.”

“Both of you, enough!” Evelyn had snapped for the second time, raising her hand and channeling the magic of the Mark. “You should _both_ go. I’m the only one here who has any chance of making it out of this mess alive! I have the Anchor, and I—“

“And you’re the only one who can stop Corpyheus!”

“Hawke’s right, Inquisitor. _You_ are the Herald of Andraste; _you_ must be saved. Go, and I will—“

“I brought us here!” Evelyn had shouted angrily. “I’m sure I can open another rift again. I can get myself out of here after you two are safe on the other side!”

But neither of her companions were convinced, and they both made that abundantly clear when they grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back a few steps, stopping her from moving toward the giant spider.

“We can’t take that risk,” Hawke had insisted, hand still on the Inquisitor’s shoulder.

“And, besides, you think we’d be safe walking right out of here and leaving you behind?” Warden Alistair had asked, a twinge of a soft smile on his lips as he let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, this time, your Templar really might kill me.”

And though she’d immediately opened her mouth to object, Alistair had only released her shoulder, giving it a quick pat before shaking his head ruefully. Her objection and her confusion faded; the Commander was neither hers nor was he a Templar any longer, but that hadn’t been the point, and this was not the time for pointing out technicalities.

There was no time.

“Listen,” Alistair had continued, sending a quick glance in the great beast’s direction before looking back at the two mages, “the Wardens might need direction, but Weisshaupt and the Inquisition can help with that. You both know everything I know about the situation; you can fill in the officials and make the decisions that need to be made. I’ve got nothing waiting for me on the other side of that rift, but the two of you do.”

When Hawke had opened _her_ mouth to object this time, he’d once again raised a hand, giving his head a firm shake before continuing on.

“I’m a Warden; my years are numbered, and my time should have run out during the Blight. You’re both ridiculously stubborn, but you aren’t going to beat me here. I learned from the best.” That time, the smile on his lips had been genuine, even as his eyes had betrayed his inner turmoil. “You’ve heard that the Hero of Ferelden was brave? She wasn’t. Leaving me down at the gates, making that final blow on her own… that wasn’t brave. It was selfish, because she didn’t want to face the life she was supposed to have in this world without me. I’ve spent years wondering what I could do to make the life she gave me worthwhile, and this, right here? This is it.”

“Alistair—“

“Cousin, tell that elf of yours where you are. Let him join you. You’re not doing him any favors, sticking him one the sidelines and making him wait blindly for news of your death – trust me. Use the time that you two have been given, and stop wasting it. And Herald? The world needs a _hero_ right now, but no one has said that it needs a _martyr_. Do whatever you have to do to stop that son of a bitch, but don’t you dare throw your life away to save someone else’s, … not when the world needs you, and not when that Templar out there needs you. There’s a letter, if you go through my belongings back at Skyhold… I promised someone I’d deliver it, but I’m going to need you to do that for me.”

“Alistair, Solona wouldn’t have wanted—“

He’d smiled one last time, a heartbreaking twist of his lips, before he’d bowed his head. “Maker willing, she can scold me for this herself.” And with that, he’d turned and charged, not giving either of the mages even a second to try and stop him.

He’d shouted “For the Grey Wardens!” at the top of his lungs as he’d charged, but he hadn’t fooled either of them.

In the end, it had been the Inquisitor who had had to grab Hawke by the arm and pull her toward the rift, unwilling to waste the sacrifice Alistair had just made for them, and it had been the Inquisitor who had locked away her own emotions and given a speech to the soldiers who met the two of them on the other side of the rift. But, when everyone had returned to Skyhold, it hadn’t been the Inquisitor who had broken the silence while the two had sifted through all of Alistair’s belongings in search of that letter he’d spoken of. No, that had been Hawke.

“He really didn’t have anything of hers, did he?” The question had been soft, and the Inquisitor had looked up to see the short-haired mage sitting on the edge of the bed, a few different items scattered around her. “Grey Warden maps, notes on Croypheus, and by the looks of it, all you’ve got over there is a collection of essentials.”

Evelyn had offered her friend a sad smile. “Do you think he really needed something of hers, when he had every breath to remember her by?"

"Everyone needs _something_ to hold onto," the Champion had countered, before reaching down and removing her gauntlet in order to reveal a strip of red fabric. "It's technically mine," she'd admitted as she'd fiddled with it, "but it matches a piece he stole from my home. I'm not sentimental, Trevelyan, it's just... _everyone_ needs something to hold on to."

And as the Inquisitor palmed the small coin she kept on her person at all times, she couldn't help but agree. "Maybe he had something with him, then."

“Maybe." A long pause had followed, before Hawke had once again broken the silence. "Well, in any case… here,” she'd urged, slipping the gauntlet back on and offering up the envelope that had been hidden amongst the maps and notes. “You should be the one to deliver this.”

“But—“ the Inquisitor had started to object, only to cut herself off the second she’d taken the sealed parchment in her hand and actually looked down at the name scrawled across it in feminine cursive. _Cullen_. Right.

“I’ve sent word to Fenris,” the other mage had declared a moment later, sighing as she finally pushed up off of the bed and rose to her feet. “I expect he’ll strangle me when I meet him at Weisshaupt… but how could I deny Alistair his final request?” She’d taken another moment to pause, then, looking around the room at the minimal belongings. “I’ll take care of his things before I head out. You should… you should go talk to your Templar.”

“He’s not—“

“Oh, you two should _really_ find a different spot to sneak away to, Herald. Alistair and I saw the two of you together, the day before Adamant. Not that we hadn’t suspected before, but…” she’d trailed off then, a light laugh bubbling up from within her as the other mage’s cheeks had reddened. It had only taken a moment for her to sober up. “Alistair was right, you know; no one said the hero has to die in this story, and that Templar of yours does need you.”

Those were the words that echoed in her mind later that night, as she felt two strong arms embrace her from behind, as she stood, looking up at the stars through the damaged roof in the room of the man who had somehow found his way into her heart.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her ear, “for bringing me the letter. I—What I said to her, when she came back to the Tower to save us all… those words have haunted me for years, and to know that she didn’t hold them against me, that she forgave me… For a while, that would have been all I could have asked for.”

“And now?” she asked, her expression remaining grim even as she felt his lips press a gentle kiss to the back of her shoulder.

“Now, I ask the Maker every day to let us both still be here, when all of this is over.”

She could feel his face nuzzling into her hair, could feel the breaths he took as he stood there behind her, holding her like he was. Perhaps, after all, he _was_ hers, and perhaps he _did_ need her.

“You’ve been quiet since Adamant,” her Commander quietly observed, “and I know you considered Warden Alistair a friend. Did… did he say anything… at the end? Did you get to say your goodbyes?”

He did need her. She could hear it in his voice, but what Alistair had failed to consider was that _she_ needed _him_ just as badly. Alistair would’ve sacrificed himself to save Solona Amell, exactly as she had done for him, and yet Alistair had _hated_ her for it. And yet Alistair had asked that Evelyn not be willing to make the very same sacrifice for Cullen, that she not be willing to sacrifice her life to save her love’s… to save the world’s.

Oh, she asked the Maker for that very same thing every single moment—that there be a way to defeat this evil and set the world right again, that there be a way for she and Cullen to be together after the whole mess was over with. She waned that. She wanted that _desperately_ , but more than anything in the world, she wanted _Cullen_ to be alive in the end, even if he ended up hating her for it. And so she knew that if it were to come down to it, if there was even the slightest chance that she could set the world right and keep her beloved Commander alive, she wouldn’t hesitate to pay whatever price was necessary to make that happen. If it came down to it, she’d throw herself over the ledge with Corypheus, before she wasted even a second to think through the options. If it came down to it, she wouldn’t allow a moment’s hesitation to make her miss the chance to defeat Corypheus. Not when the world hung in the balance. Not when _Cullen’s life_ hung in the balance. She couldn’t afford to be careful with him.

And so, when Evelyn answered her love's question, she lied. "No," she whispered as she turned in his arms, rolling up onto her toes to press a kiss to his lips. She lifted one hand to cup the back of his head, her other hand pressing against the phylactery he wore around his neck, and she blinked back the tears. "No, it all happened too fast for us to say anything."


End file.
